Exiles
by allonyoav
Summary: One world invading another through unsuspecting exiles, or so they think. Note: This was a setting I created for a group many years ago, now being recreated into a book.
1. Prelude

Prologue

 **Part One**

Exile! The word tolled in Ethan's head as he shuffled forward in line. His arms ached from pulling the small handcart that contained all his possessions; two shirts, two pairs of pants, one coat, four days worth of food, a hoe blade, pick-axe blade, one pair of boots, seeds, two wineskins and a small fishing net. Strapped to his waist a small, sharp eating knife and an old, but well kept, sword which had been handed down through three generations since the day that his great-grandfather had mustered out of the King's guards to become a farmer. Scant to take with him as he left behind family, friends and a farm. He didn't look up, none of the exiles did, all just shuffled forward in silence to the distant blue glow of the gate, of the sundering from this world and reality to the unknown.

Behind him Ethan heard the occasional cough and clanging of chains. He didn't turn around, who wanted to see the unfortunate soul that was being sent into exile without even the scant few possessions he had. Another cough from behind him and a bit of red tinged spittle landed on the ground to the side.

"So, why are you being sent into exile?"

The voice came from behind. She sounded tired and in pain. Ethan turned in surprise at somebody talking in the line. Nobody talked in the line; everyone was too busy contemplating their loss and fear for the future. He looked at the woman, her thinness that of exercise and muscle, not the starvation of most of their fellow exiles. Her face was swollen and bruised, her lip cracked and her nose bent at an odd angle. The lower part of her face was covered in dried blood, which had coated the front of her dirty grey shift. Her legs, arms and feet were bare, except for the shackles that made walking difficult and prevented her from raising her hands above her waist. The shackles rubbed the skin raw around wrists and ankles where blood crusted and pooled, occasionally dripping onto the ground. Dirty, blood soaked, badly cropped, black hair did little to improve the picture.

"Do you think they'll take these off me when we get to the gate, before they push me into exile? Or am I to be a gift to whatever's on the other side?" She spoke conversationally, but Ethan detected real fear in her voice. Sent through like that, with no means to defend herself, and unable to run away, it would not be long before she ended up on her back, the plaything of whomever claimed her.

"I think so. They once made me spend a day at the gate as a witness. I saw those guards removing shackles from some of the prisoners they sent through. I suppose it all depends on why you were shackled. You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

"No, though I wish I had. I just kicked one of the local Holy Prefects in the balls; to make him keep his hands off my younger sister. I kicked him hard; maybe he will never be able to bother young girls again! His guards returned the kick with interest."

She winced as she coughed and spat out some more of the blood-specked spittle. "It's not that bad, its just blood from the broken teeth in my mouth, they didn't break anything inside, I think. So what's your story? Which of their holy rules did you break?"

"I laughed."

He noted at her incredulous look, and gave a wry smile.

"A big price to pay for a bit of mirth is it not? I laughed while the Holy Prefect was holding forth, sermonising on the perfection of self through devotion and sacrifice. I heard someone behind me remark that the Holy Prefect was obviously intending to make a fat sacrifice of self someday. I laughed, I couldn't help it. There I was surrounded by farmers, grocers, merchants; all starving and emaciated from having their own produce taken to be redistributed by the temple, and the obese Holy Prefect did look like one of those choice, fat cows that they like to offer up twelve times a day!"

A few places down the line a heavily muscled man struggled with a mule. It baulked at being chivvied along with the truncated whip the man wielded and appeared heavily overloaded as well. As the man hit it, the mule shied away, one of the ropes holding the heavy bundles on its back broke, and a cloth covered bundle dropped to the ground. The man cursed as he tried to reload the package, and cursed at one of the other exiles, carrying nothing and dressed in just a plain brown robe, who came to help him.

"Leave it, fool, you do not want to be part of this!"

The other man shrugged and just hefted one end of the package, setting it firmly on the mules back. Surreptitiously his fingers worked, and the mule calmed down. The muscled man looked surprised as the frayed rope seemed to repair, and reknot itself. The robed man just winked at him and stepped away whispering softly to himself, his voice barely audible, and definitely inaudible anywhere further away than the muscled man.

"Fool or not, we go into exile and I have no doubt that bundle and what it contains will be needed." He looked away, going quiet, trundling forward with the rest of the crowd.

The blue glow neared, the air held a strange smell, a mix of offal and the sea. It was too far from the docks and ocean here, and the Holy Prefects allowed no offal or excrement in the cities. Woe betide the sick man that could not control himself until he got to the pits dug outside the walls. Most likely he would end up in this line, trudging into exile for his high crime. He shuffled forward, his handcart dragging behind him, the woman following coughing and wincing as she stumbled forward in her shackles.

More steps forward, more shuffling, and the table of the last judgement could be seen ahead. Slowly each exile was brought to it, and offered their last choice, exile to the unknown or death. Surprisingly many chose death, the unknown too fearsome, and the blue gate sparkling and crackling adding its own cadence and power to the fear of the unknown. Ethan looked at the citizen witnesses, the unfortunates pulled away from their fields, businesses, families or whatever they were involved in to bear witness that all chose from their free will and were not coerced.

All too soon he was forced forward, surrounded by guards with their gleaming armour and well fed faces. The judge sat looking at him, the day's tally of prisoners for exile before him.

"Ethan of Gesh Spring farm you have been sentenced to exile for mocking the sacred scriptures and their teachers. Since your crime is a relatively mild one, we are willing to be lenient."

In the pause Ethan's hopes began to rise. Some were spared, was he to be one? He could do penance, anything if he got to stay behind, return to the farm, his wife and five children.

"In lieu of exile or death we offer the choice of voluntary servitude for life. You can choose to be gelded, and sent to the holy city to serve those whom you mocked."

Gelded and sent to be a servant of the elite in the Holy City? Ethan's face must have reflected his horror. He would be less than a man, a toy to be used by those he hated, and he would never see his family again. Far better to take his chances in exile!

"I deny your false leniency!" His strong voice rang out, loud enough to carry to the citizen witnesses and even some of those that gathered to try and catch a last glimpse of their loved ones as they disappeared forever. The judge's face was turning red, darkening in fury. Before he could speak, and perhaps impose an even harsher sentence or beating Ethan continued.

"I choose exile." Exile and an escape from the Tyranny of the Holy ones, of the Holy Prefects and their unending rules and oppression, escape to the unknown, but surely it could not be worse than this! He grabbed his hand cart and turned to the line. The judge motioned and the guards parted as he moved towards the Gate. Behind him, he heard the judge begin again.

"Bellasi of Jiar's Hamlet, you maimed one of the Holy Ones and thus have a choice of exile or death. Let it be known that for you death will not be merciful or quick, but shall mirror your crime. Your feet and hands will be amputated and your eyes put out. The rest of your days will be spent in the days of the soldiers, lying in a cot for them to sate their needs whenever they wish. In denying the Holy One his desires, you will be an object on which others will sate their desires."

Of course, the reply of the woman was swift. It was no real choice. Torture and a slow death paled in comparison to the unknown. He heard her falling in behind him, and her curses at the fact that she remained shackled. It seemed that her kick had been as good as she boasted and the Holy One would not be bothering any young girls again.

The Gate loomed ahead. Ethan thought he caught glimpses as each exile was pushed through. A dirty, muddy square surrounded by poorly built brick buildings. Ahh, well at least those that had preceded him into exile had not reverted to total savagery.

Then it was his turn. He stood before the gate, his handcart behind him and the crackling blue filling the world before him. He stopped, overcome with fear, his body baulking at moving forwards. He felt a soft push and the voice of the guard. "Come on, walk. Don't make me throw you through there!" A breathe, a sigh, a step, and the blue overcame him.

Not much later the heavily muscled man was pushed forward, his face contorted with hatred as he faced the judge, the faded tattoo of chains across his face contorted with his expression.

The judge was unfazed, "Tirangali, freed slave and gladiator, you are guilty of consorting with rebels, of speaking out against the games and the justice of the rites of combat. You have a choice, return to slavery and spend the rest of your life as a gladiator administering the rites of justice to those who choose to test themselves in that manner, or exile."

Tirangali spat into the face of the judge, and watched as his spittle hit an invisible barrier before him.

The judge simply smiled and watched as the guards stepped forward and forced him through the crackling gate.

Soon after it was the robed man's turn. He did not even stop before the judge but simply walked past him into the gate. His action took the guard's by surprise and one made an aborted effort to stop him but pulled back as he came too close to the gate. The judge continued speaking as if he were there, a matter of form for the witnesses.

"Sinclair of the White, you are guilty of the blasphemy of claiming that the holy ones do not use miracles but merely use the power of the natural to trick and manipulate the masses. Choose, exile or death." With Sinclair long gone, there was no answer and the judge just waited until the next unfortunate was brought to stand before him.

Long after sunset, with the coming of nightfall and a silence over the plaza as the line was terminated until the next day, a whistle could be heard. The guards who stood before the gate turned their backs, looking intently into the distance. While they did so, a group of three men, muscled, well armed and moving with military precision passed between them and entered the gate. No words were said, no greetings exchanged, and within moments another whistle sounded and the guards turned back to guarding a gate nobody wished to enter.

 **Part Two**

The tower looked out over the surrounding mountains. Three huge peaks jutted out, rising over the surrounding ranges that encircled the mountain on which the tower stood. High Protector Jered stared out of his lofty window feeling the bite of the cold thin. Behind him the council awaited his decision.

"So, the strangers continue to arrive. Their settlements are restricted to the three fingers and they have yet to cross the mountains." He turned to the council.

"We would be foolish to ignore their presence, but equally foolish to try and attack across the mountains. From what we do know, they have few resources, little organisation and no army. All that can change in time, but the geography of the land will not. The three fingers are well protected. Mountains stop overland travel, along with the jungle before them. Sea travel is treacherous; the coast is surrounded by reefs, easily passed over by fishing boats but not by anything large enough to serve a military purpose."

"We are at an impasse, Nobles of the Council. They are too weak to even contemplate coming across and near our lands, but they are too well protected for us to mount a successful assault. I caution against an attack at this point. We do not know if they are enemies or potential allies against the Teskim. What I do suggest is sending our own spies in. Let us find out who they are. What they are doing here and what do they want."

"High Protector, you leave an option out. Why not approach the Guild of High Magics?" A well dressed woman, her fingers and toes adorned with an impressive range of rings looked at Jered. "Will they not help? Do they not fear invasion and an upsetting of our Conglomerate from these newcomers?"

Jered remained still, his eyes impassive, his face calm. "The High Mages have been asked for assistance. They refuse to act unless we can prove that they are allied to the Teskim or are an imminent danger to the Conglomerate. They fear becoming involved in territorial military battles. As long as the Conglomerate and Merchant Houses are not threatened, they preach caution. We are on our own, the military forces of the Conglomerate, together with the resources of the Merchant Houses, must deal with this until we can prove they are a threat and not an ally or potential trading partner."

Gorun Tipe was the most undistinguishable looking man that Jered had ever seen. He was medium height, had a plain face with brown eyes, weathered skin and was balding. He dressed in plain, ordinary brown clothing, like any of the hundreds of commoners that walked the streets. Yet he stood there, the one recommended for this mission, the best scout and assassin they had.

"The assignment sounds simple, though it is likely to be more difficult than you expect. A ship will take you as close to their settlements as possible, without being seen. You will land in a small boat and gather as much information as you can. Find out who they are, what they want here. Report back when you can."

Jered leaned back, looking at the nondescript man, waiting for a response.

"How long, Sir?"

"You stay, until you know, either for woe or weal, where we stand with these strangers. You can communicate at will. At least the High Mages were willing to give us that much help." He passed across a plain looking headband, one that many a traveller might wear. "Just wear it and you can talk to us."

A small nod and Gorun reached out taking the headband. "Yes, Sir. Anything else I need to know? Will there be anyone else that I can contact there or am I alone?"

"Alone. If there is a change we will let you know. Gorun, they are unlikely to speak our language. Do you know the necessary low magic charms or do you need to learn them before you go?"

"That will not be a problem, Sir. I come from an old Trade family. Linguistics charms were taught to us when we were still running around in the family gardens."

 _So, he dresses as a commoner, comes from a trade family, and received the upbringing of a noble. A strange one he is indeed._ His thoughts racing as he listened to Gorun, Jered contemplated his tool as he dismissed him. Indeed, Gorun appeared to be a strange man with many talents; an excellent tool for the strange job at hand.

Gorun's little boat skipped across the sea onto the beach landing. The night was brightly lit, but he wasn't worried about being seen. The little fishing village of the strangers was only a short way down the coast, but he doubted that anyone was out at night. The intervening forest held many dangers for the unwary, but he was familiar with them and could easily avoid the common problems- from the tendrils of the thorn vines which feasted on the blood of the unwary, to the sunken hollows of the pit plant.

He adjusted the straps of his haversack and started marching towards the settlement. He would find somewhere safe to hide and observe the strangers for a few days before he entered the settlement. Carefully hiding his boat, he entered the forest, making his way through the coastal forest. The warbling of a sea hornet caused a pause in his steps. Scanning the jungle carefully, he stepped forward, looking out for the purple that would indicate their nest; and death if he should touch it. Relieved, he noticed it in the trees above him, as well as the telltale tentacles of a thorn vine. Alert for the sensitive roots that would cause the vines to whip round and impale him, he continued forward. The strangers had chosen a dangerous area for their settlement.

For three days he watched the settlement. What he saw made him wonder where they were from. They were short of everything, from proper nets, to boats, to iron and steel tools. A few had well made implements, but most seemed to make do with improvised and poorly crafted tools. There seemed an inordinate amount of single people, most were not paired and few children were to be seen. He crept closer, his charms opening his ears to understand their tongue. Most of the time they spoke little, and what he did hear when they spoke out in the open, was nothing more than the prattle of small villages everywhere. The only difference was the lack of gossip that generally accompanied the doings of such small communities.

The people of Toesk Bay were their normal taciturn selves when the stranger entered their village. He carried very little with him, just a small pack. He seemed unremarkable, and when he appeared in the village commons that evening he was quiet, taciturn, venturing nothing. The exiles looked on him with pity. Surely he must have recently arrived, and come on the small track that connected their little village to the main settlement of Dienie's Landing. They shifted over and allowed him food from the communal pot. That night he slept on the dunes by the boats, with many of the fishermen who would venture out in their small, rickety boats in the morning. When they returned, the community would work together and within the week he, too, would have a small hut in which to live.

 **Part Three**

General D'Sal looked at the line snaking into the Gate. He smiled as he saw many stepping through, the unknowing ones that were the vanguard to settle the new world. He turned around, facing his staff across the table, a small map laid out before them.

"So, do we know anything for sure? How much has been reported back?"

"Very little so far, Sir." The adjutant looked down at the map, reporting back on its main features. "As you can see, they have created a main settlement by the gate called Dienie's landing. From there they have created a number of small satellite villages supporting the farms and fisherman. They have no real organisation, Dienie's landing has a council of sorts but no guards, no police no courts. We are unsure if they have even established a citizen militia!"

"And the Church? Is there anyone spreading the holy word?" A thin, emaciated man stepped forward. His eyes scanned the room and none felt safe from his gaze.

The adjutant swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "No, your eminence. We, uh, have found out that some did try to establish a Church there but they did not succeed." He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

"Failed? What did happen to them?" The voice was cold and everyone, the general included, inadvertently stepped a bit away from the luckless adjutant.

"Holy one, do forgive me for being the bearer of bad news, but it appears that the priests who snuck through to try and establish the church there were caught. They were not treated kindly despite their holy intentions!"

The General could see that the inquisitor was about to continue the questioning and decided that it was time to intervene.

"Adjutant, you were briefing us on the Exiles. Do continue." He bowed his head at the Inquisitor, "with your permission of course Ser Dirgonis"

The Inquisitor's mouth was set in a thin line but he nodded and the relieved adjutant continued the briefing.

To the east of the settlement area there is sea, shallow and filled with coral reefs. Fishing appears to be easy there. In the other three directions are forest and mountains. As yet no one has mapped the mountains to see if there are passages though we know that there are Enemies beyond them."

Ser Dirgonis, the Inquisitor, spoke next. "Our sources tell us that though there appear to be no native settlements near the exiles, there is a highly sophisticated and magically adept society over the mountains. We have no details yet, but hope that those we have sent across into Exile will report back soon.

The General looked at the map, at the empty spaces and grunted. "We send our spies across and we hope they will return with information soon." He narrowed his eyes and looked at the Inquisitor, "I hope these are better trained than those foolish priests who tried to start a Church." He held up a hand as he saw the Inquisitor's anger rising. "Can you call it anything but foolish? Their intentions were noble and holy, but the exiles are there mostly because of their hatred for the Church. They will serve our purpose, they will create a landing area for us, but let us not be foolish and think they will love us or welcome us when we arrive with our armies!


	2. Chapter 1

Exile

Chapter 1

Ethan straightened his aching back, looking over the freshly tilled soil behind him. He smiled; satisfied that he had done all he could to prepare the ground for the seeds he had so carefully carried through the gate. A good decision it seemed, far better than those who had brought through coins hidden in household implements, the family jewels or expensive works of art. All deemed worthless in the struggle to survive. Simple seeds and farming implements were worth far more than their weight in gold.

 _He thought back to his arrival, his stumbling through the blue gate, the seeming endless pain, the feeling that he had been stretched, chopped into tiny elementary particles and then streamed through the fires of Lirak's, the Elder Elemental God of Fire, personal abode. When he had stopped screaming he found himself stumbling into a sand filled circle. Gentle hands cradled him, lowered him to the floor and poured some fresh water into his mouth. He looked up, gratefully, into the smiling face of a middle aged man who helped lift him off the ground. A young boy grabbed the handles of his hand cart, pulling it along as they walked._

" _Welcome to Dienie's Landing. Not much of a city, unfortunately, not even a real town. It is what passes for civilisation around here. I am taking you to our ruling council." At the look of alarm in Ethan's face he quickly continued, placating the newly arrived exile. "The council is voted for by all of us in exile, so it has a lot of well known rebels on it, as well as people that have been in exile for long enough for people to get to know them. They want nothing more than to know who you are, where you are from and what skills you bring to our community. Nothing will be taken from you, nor will anything will be demanded from you. You are free to do as you wish or to help our community grow."_

 _Ethan looked around as they walked. The buildings around the arrival area were made of wood; very little stone seemed to be in use. Most were two stories tall, and seemed to be built by eager amateurs rather than true carpenters or builders. He could see nails had been used, and frequently fewer than were required, even where a nail free carpenter's joint could have been used, for a stronger and more economical join. Drainage also seemed a problem, buckets of slop were just emptied into the streets, no one seemed bothered by the stench; evidently they had grown used to it._

 _They headed towards on of the nearby buildings, indistinguishable from those on either side. Simple swing doors, on rope hinges, stood open admitting everyone that entered. His head clearing, Ethan remembered the woman behind him._

" _Tell me, friend, what happens to those who come through in shackles?"_

 _The man frowned, looking over his shoulders at the landing area._

" _We question them. We have no need for real criminals here, and unholy bastards are as quick to dispose of rapists and murderers into exile as those who oppose their rule. The real criminals never leave the landing area. The others, they are freed, made welcome and given the basic necessities for survival. We help them as far as we can. After all, are we not all brothers and sisters in exile?"_

 _The small group stepped through the doorway, the little cart bobbing along the uneven wooden floor. They manoeuvred through knots of people, each one shouting louder than the rest, each with their own request for people seated at the table before which they gathered. Seed, farming implements, craft tools, the simplest of metal utensils seemed to be in short supply. A few glanced enviously into his handcart at the pick and hoe heads, but none moved to take them._

 _At the back was another set of doors, held closed by simple rope ties. They waited a few moments and the door was opened. Nervously Ethan entered, his guide at his side, the boy pushing the handcart close behind. Inside was a circle of chairs. Each was occupied; some were men, some women; all smiled and looked friendly. An elderly man stood up, beckoning to the sole empty chair._

" _Come, sit. We will talk, tell you about us, and you will tell us whatever you feel comfortable speaking about. There are no Inquisitors here! We are one family, one group, one people that needs to live and grow in this new land."_

 _Intimidated by the surroundings, even though the man in front of him seemed friendly enough, Ethan stepped forward, almost collapsing into the offered chair._

 _The man smiled again, sitting down. "Is this not better? Now, I am Simon, and it is my pleasant task to welcome you here. As you saw, it is a small community, and we are not wealthy, but we are growing, and with the help of the gods will continue to do so." Simon glanced at the hand cart, at the farming implements with their metal heads. "You are a farmer? Did you bring seed?"_

 _Ethan quailed inside, he looked around nervously not knowing what would happen. Should he lie? Could he hide what he had brought? Best not to, he thought, if they should look they would discover the lie. Scared, but sticking to his decision he answered, "Yes, I am a farmer and I brought seed. Grain and wheat and some other small plants and herbs."_

 _Simon laughed! His face beamed as he looked at Ethan, "A farmer! And one with the foresight to bring tools and seed! Never fear Ethan, you are honoured and will be given what you need to establish your farm. Few enough here have the skills that we would waste what you have on those who could not use it! I do have one request of you if you do not object?"_

 _Ethan looked at Simon, wondering what the cost would be. He was relieved that there seemed no intention to remove his goods, but how much would they demand? Would he get any of what he farmed or would this new council be like the "Holy Ones", taking everything and returning but a handful._

" _Well, a few requests actually, though one is simpler than the others. The first, your name. The second is that I would ask that you take one or more of the younger children under your protection and teach them how to farm. The third, that you be prepared to share part of what you grow with us. We will not take anything. We do not tax and we will provide items you may lack in exchange. But the truth of it is that at the moment the most precious thing we have is food, and I ask that you share until such time as we can give fair value in return."_

 _Ethan stood and bowed to the council, "My apologies for my lack of manners. I am Ethan, late of Gesh Spring, husband to Rita, father to Josh, Lika and Rus." Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of his family, those left behind that he knew he would never see again. "Of course I will share and of course I will teach."_

That had been a month ago. In the time he had cleared his fields of rocks, brought two children under his wing, a boy they called Rock who said he was 10 and girl called Esme, his sister, who claimed to be 8. He did not believe either age, both were small, both looked younger. He smiled as he watched them in the fields. At first he had been reluctantly to let the two little ones out, but he soon learned they knew more about survival here than he did. They had pointed out the thin tendrils that attached to a vine with sharp, thin needles and told him how stepping on those tendrils caused the vine to lash out with the needles that paralysed you and caused you to lie there until you rotted away, feeding the plant.

He clapped and the two came running silently. He often wondered at their silence but put it down to their trauma in arriving here, their mother smuggling them through the gate to join their father, only to be killed by an arrow shot by a guard who spotted them out after curfew, only to arrive to find their father dead, killed by the bite of an unknown insect. As they neared the hut he was slowly trying to expand into a proper home, a buzzing started in his head. It had started a few days ago and it now seemed to last longer each time. He grimaced, grabbing his head and then tried to smile, no need to scare the children, they had enough trauma already.

Bellasi scrubbed the floor of council house. Her wrists still bore the marks of the shackles that had been on her wrists as she came through the gate into exile. She had been given rough homespun clothes to wear, hand me downs from one of the other settlers since there was nothing yet being made here. She smiled as she remembered her arrival, the reception she had received as she had come through the gate

 _The guard pushed her forward, putting his foot out to trip her as she arrived at the gate. She stumbled through and felt pain like a thousand knives cutting at her as the blue glow engulfed her. She fell through, the pain squeezing scream after scream out of her. She fell, until she felt the hard rock hit into her face, her nose starting to bleed as she lifted her head. She felt someone's hands grabbing her, pulling her up._

" _Here, let us help you up, stumble as you came through? Ah, still shackled, the guards obviously did not like you much, will we? Never mind, the council will decide!"_

 _Bellasi listened to the voice and turned to the source. A large man stood before her, his arms lifting her easily as she barely came to his chin. His face was rugged and scared and he smelled slightly of decay and offal. She began to fear what would happen next, who were this council?_

 _Another man came forward, grabbed hold of her chains and looked at her._

" _It's your choice how we treat you. If you are innocent and just a victim, come quietly and soon these will be off, we only leave them off since they often send through offal as well as the innocent in shackles. Just follow and all will be well."_

 _She shrugged, she had little choice after all, and followed as the man led her, his hands gripping her chains. The settlement was dirty, no proper care or sanitation and the smell assaulted her. She found herself longing for the cleanliness of her home city and laughed to herself- as much as she hated the Holy Ones, at least they kept the streets clean!_

 _She was led through simple swinging doors into a plain two story building. People stood in rows shouting out various requests. Some called for food, others for clothing, yet others for tools or a place to sleep. She quailed, thinking of the injustices of the holy ones and seeing not much difference here. Her guide led her through to another room, a table in the centre surrounded by chairs. The men and women sitting there looked at her and waited until the guard had seated her at the one empty place. She looked at the arrangement curiously, a circle with her just one of those there, not facing the others across the table, just one of them._

" _Greetings Exile, I am Simon, the head of the council." She looked at the small, thin man and waited more. When no one else seemed inclined to talk she coughed shifted in her seat. Still, there was silence. The people in the room just sat, looking at her, no sound, no fidgeting._

" _What do you want?" Bellasi blurted out," She found the whole situation very uncomfortable, "Are you deciding how best to abuse me? Are you just the same as those who sent me through the gate?"_

 _Simon looked at her, his voice soft as he replied. "What do we want? To know your name, to know why it is you wear shackles and come to us in bloodied clothes. As you can see, we are not a large community, nor a strong one, we have to know, are you going to be part of us or are you going to hurt us?"_

" _Hurt you? Why would I do that? I ran an inn, I looked after travellers, and I crushed the balls of a holy one before he could rape my sister! I am bloodied because they sent me through after beating me and made sure I was thrown through instead of arriving on my feet!"_

 _In front of Simon part of the table glowed blue and all those sitting there relaxed, their faces breaking into smiles, a few laughing softly at the image in their mind of one of the fat holy ones being gelded by a kick!_

 _A man stepped forward with a small anvil, pick and chisel. A few short blows later and her shackles were lying on the floor._

 _Bellsai looked down and now smiled, it did not look like they were planning any harm so she might as well assume the best. Standing up she bowed to those at the table._

" _I am Bellasi of Jiar's Hamlet, or at least I was. Innkeeper extraordinaire and a fine juggler!"_

 _Simon laughed and looked at her. Ïnnkeeping and juggling, not truly skills we need, but we always have work for those who are willing."_

And so they did, as Bellasi found out. Not glamorous but it was work, it gave her something to contribute and now the council hall was always clean, the smells of old gone as she brooked no rubbish piling up or dirt being left around. In a scant month she had gone from being just a worker to taking control of most of those working in the building, ensuring that it ran properly and was looked after.

She looked at the floor she had just finished scrubbing and smiled to herself, one less room to worry about for now. Just then her head began to hurt, the buzzing irritating her as it came and went. It never seemed to last long, but it always seemed to be there. She grimaced and then ignored it, there was too much to do!

 _Tirangali stepped into the blue curtain and sucked in his breathe as the pain hit. He let it flow into him, he grasped it, held onto it and then ignored it. He felt the mule bucking behind him, bellowing in pain, but soon it finished as he stepped through, its lead rope firmly grasped in his hand. Someone tried to grab hold of his hand and, without thinking, he drew his knife and spun around, facing his attacker. Standing before him was a rather ordinary, and scared looking man._

" _No need for that Ser!"_ _The man stepped back, looking at the knife held in an obviously competent hand. "Just here to help Ser, no offense meant!"_

" _I am no Ser!" Tirangali straightened, sheathing his knife. "Where is this place?"_

" _Well Ser, no offense and begging your pardon, but this is Dinnie's Landing, where all the exiles arrive. Just here to help you and take you to the council."_

" _What does this council want? What do they have to do with me?"_

" _The council, Ser? They want to help us, to know what each can do to help the community. We are all here, all hungry, all trying to build something new. Will you come with me?"_

 _Tirangali shrugged and nodded. May as well follow, he had no idea where to go anyway, and there was no need to start a fight just yet. Who knew, maybe there would even be a way to trade what he carried in his bundles._

 _The council was as small and rustic as Tirangali expected. He almost laughed at their attempts to make it friendly and relaxing. As promised, they tried to force nothing, to take nothing. They looked at the covered bundles and did not push when he refused to say what they contained. They relaxed when they learned he had been exiled for smuggling, assuming that he, like so many others, was caught for smuggling food._

Tirangali looked at the newly built addition to his house. Unlike so many of the other houses, it was properly built. His long deceased father had been a carpenter and he had been apprenticed to him before he was dragged away to be a slave and then a gladiator. CarpenIt was cosy, warm, and, most importantly of all, had ample hiding space for his bundles. He looked out at the community in which he had taken on the task of training some of the men into a militia, he being one of the very few who actually knew how to handle a weapon. But his most important possessions, the weapons that had been his downfall, the ones he had been smuggling, remained hidden. One day he would be able to get his price for them. For now, they were his hidden treasure.

Tirangali reflected on his new life, in a way he felt more complete and whole than at other times. The fact that he had been a slave, that he wore a slaves tattoos seemed meaningless here. No one cared, after all they had all been deemed criminals and sent into exile. He was almost happy, almost complete, but the nagging headaches and buzzing that attacked him when he least expected it irritated him. He tried to ignore it, but he could not help but feel it was destined to change his life.

Sinclair walked into the glow, reciting to himself, he felt the gate pulling at him, disassembling him to send him elsewhere. He exerted his will, sent out his own tendrils and grabbed hold of the magic as it took hold. He could not stop it, but he wanted to at least control it. He saw it leading into a square below, people gathering there to take off newcomers as they arrived and he extended his will, changing where he would arrive, forcing himself into a clump of trees at the end of the settlement away from any prying eyes. He sat down to meditate, to relax, until he felt more in control. He did not do much, he wanted to know more. Simple magic turned the bole of a tree into a home. He settled down to observe and to try and figure out what was wrong. The passage through had been easy, so why did his head ache and his ears buzz?

Page 6 of 6


	3. Interlude and Chapter 2

Exile

Interlude

 _From afar they watched. They could see the humans moving about in their small settlement while the land moved about them. Further afield they saw others watching, mixed groups that moved to spy on those newly come. One stood, white robes fell around him as his head turned to the others in silent communication._

" _They come for far. Where does the gate lead? Which plane, which world?"_

 _Another answered, his blue robes reflecting light with a metallic shimmer as he rose, facing the white clad one._

" _Magister, we have yet to tell. There is a familiarity to the magic powering the gate, a signature that marks it almost as one of us, yet it is not."_

 _A third one rose, his red robes casting a long shadow defying the light as it extended further than any of the others._

" _Magus, Magister and others, we watch as we always have and until now have not worried about the new comers. They come from afar, but they are weak and of no concern." He paused and continued, "Or so it was, now one has come through, we felt the threads of power as he entered, felt them move where he went but could track him no further. As worrying, we now believe others watch, that others move even as we do. We fear, Masters, we fear that they come and we are not ready."_

 _The three faced each other, their eyeless heads dipping as one as they turned to the last of them, the fourth sitting in his black robes, the one who did not rise, who did not speak. They waited and, slowly, he elevated himself, his seated body raising, floating._

" _You await a verdict, but that is a matter for you, Magister. You seek an answer to the Gates, you would know what powers them, but that is a matter for you Magus. You would know of he who weaves power, who throws threads to hide and to ensnare, but that is a matter for you Holy one. No one has spoken of insurrection, of armies, of death and thus this is, as yet, not a matter for me."_

 _The white clad one looked at him, "But it is, did you not hear, did you not perceive beyond the words of the Holy One? The arrival of the one with power shows that others watch. The Insep are here, and they are always your concern General!"_

 _The black clad being nodded. "Very well, it is my concern and now the whole council is involved. The humans will be led, they will make contact with others, and perhaps they will survival. Who knows the will on the Insep and their appetites? We will act, we will be prepared, but we will remain hidden, our final defense, as always._

Chapter 2

The doctor shuddered as another man was brought into the makeshift hospital. Until recently this had been a tent, the floors dirt underground and the occasional patient lying on a straw filled mattress. Now it was in a recently built wooden building, the large rooms filled with simple cots and those filled with groaning patients. Nurses wandered between the beds, dabbing at perspiring faces, trying to soothe the groaning patients, but not having much success.

The doctor left the room, walking to the council house where he ignored the lines of people asking for their necessities, ignoring the guards and walking into the greeting room. As always the council sat at the round table talking to a new arrival. They glanced up briefly from quizzing the man before them, shirtless and covered in whip lashes but only Simon excused himself, leaving another to continue the questioning while he and the doctor moved into a small side room.

"Any change?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Simon. No change, just more patients, more of them lying there groaning and sweating. The only positive news is that there have been no deaths yet."

Simon swore, before leaning on the wall behind him. "Any ideas? What is this?"

"No, no ideas. I have never seen anything like this. It does not even look like any of the problems we have come across before. It is different to the golden hornet sting. Different to the venom from the needle trees, different to the sting from the bugs. Nothing in this world resembles it, nothing in our world resembles it."

Simon looked at him, "This IS our world! The old world belongs to the oppressors, to those who would have us all in their image. Learn, Doctor, learn about our home so we can overcome."

The doctor's shoulders slumped, his head dropped. "Don't misunderstand me Simon. I am committed to our home. I love our community despites its poverty, despite it being small, overcrowded and under resourced. But I am frustrated! I have never seen anything like this, magical or otherwise. It is not poison, it is no curse or magical malady that I can detect. No one is dying, but slowly everyone is becoming sick."

Simon looked at the doctor and frowned. "Are there no exceptions? Is there any particular group that does not appear affected? Or a group that appears most affected?"

"Exceptions? Yes there are exceptions. Those in the outlying settlements are not affected yet, those that are here all are sick, you me and everyone else. The only difference seems to be in the severity and the ability to handle it." He stopped, thinking, "but there are some that seem unaffected from the new arrivals. They have been complaining of headaches, but show no symptoms of whatever this is." He looked at Simon, "I have to wonder, are they carriers, deliberately spreading the disease while being immune or just lucky?"

Simon looked at him. "That is a worrying thought, that there may be those amongst us that are deliberately spreading this, whatever it is! Who are they?"

"Ethan the farmer, Bellasi who has taken over the maintenance and keeping the council house clean and Tirangali, the merchant and militia trainer."

"Ethan and Bellasi, they both seem harmless, no more than what they appear. Tirangali is different, far more to him than meets the eye. We are watching him anyway, he is not the food smuggler he would have us believe, more than one person has recognised him as one of the champion gladiators but no one knows what he did to be sent here. Thank you doctor, you have given me much to think about!"

Ethan brought more water to the sick children who lay in their beds sweating and moaning. They were both feverish, their faces flushed, complaining of sore bodies. They ate, they slept, they drank and got no worse, but after three days Ethan was at a loss. His own children had been sick in the past, but had always recovered quickly. He had gone into Dinnie's Landing for help, but things were worse there. The new hospital overflowed. The few doctors and nurses still on their feet were stumbling form patient to patient while volunteers ran with water and food, all the while drinking themselves. The sickness was killing no one, but soon they would die anyway when food started running out as no more was brought. The villages helped, leaving fish and vegetables to be collected from safe places, but they were struggling and soon they, too, would be under food pressure.

Ethan rested and his one chair, his feet up, his head tilting to one side as he dozed off. A knock on the door woke him, causing him to jump up, knocking over the chair as he tumbled to the ground. Groaning he stood up, clutching his banged buttocks and stumbling towards the door. He lifted the latch and a group of men pushed in, grabbing him. He started to protest but one clamped a hand over his mouth as they dragged him out.

He stumbled along, struggling to stay upright as they covered the distance from his hut to the council house, his mouth covered all the way. A few people looked at him curiously, but few people were about, and those that were seemed listless and not paying attention to anything around them. Ethan just followed on, not knowing what was going on, not knowing why they brought him there or refused to let him speak.

He was dragged in and forced to the ground in the greeting room next to two others. He recognised Bellasi from when they had met in line, but the other was a man he did not recognise but whom he had seen around from time to time. Bellasi sat there looking resigned, not putting up any resistance, the other man was red faced, one eye swollen shut, blood leaking from his mouth and chained in addition to the ropes around him and Bellasi.

He sat there, looking at Simon and the empty seats around the room. With the hand gone from his mouth he could speak again, but he remained silent, he did not see much point in talking given the circumstances.

"Ah, Ethan, glad to see you chose not to fight." Simon paused to wipe sweat from his forehead, his face red and flushed. Ethan could see that aside from the three bound on the floor, everyone in the room seemed to be ill to varying degrees.

"So Ethan, Ballasi and Tirangali I have a problem. Do you know what that problem is?" Simon paused and continued when there was no response. "It's a question, why are you three healthy when everyone else is ill? You three, all arriving on the same day and none of you are ill. Others who arrived that day are as sick as everyone else, just you three remain healthy. Can you tell me why?"

Ethan looked shocked at the news, EVERYONE was ill? Only he and two others were not. He was about to speak when there was a silent cough at the door. Everyone turned to look at an old man standing there. No one recognised him but, like the three bound prisoners he showed no signs of illness.

"Actually there were four that arrived that day who have no signs of illness. I am amongst them. He walked forward, ignoring the guards and coming between Simon and the prisoners. "I am Sinclair, one of those who have monitored and lived in hiding from the Holy Ones while trying to keep the knowledge and study of magic alive. You never saw me arrive, I was able to subvert the gate enough to allow me to arrive where I wished and I have remained in hiding ever since." He turned to one of the empty chairs, "Do you mind if I sit? I am an old man and cannot stand for too long?" He sat, not waiting for an answer, hiking his robes up to mid thigh as he did, revealing paste white, think legs with prominent veins.

"You want to know why we are healthy and all you sick? And soon all those in your surrounding villages as well?" He sighed, "I have spent the last few weeks watching, trying to gather information and all I really know is that we are not as alone as we thought. Others watch, others wonder about us, but I have no idea who they are or what they want. Someone has marked the four of us, singled us out when we came through the gate and now has rendered everyone else helpless. Clearly they wanted to get our attention and want the four of us to take action when nobody else could."

"Action, what action?" Tirangali spoke up, for the first time seeing a chance to do something rather than just be wrapped up in chains.

"Why, to go to them of course!" Sinclair looked at him. "You have had headaches, yes? Have you not noticed something strange about them?"

It then struck Ethan, yes, there was one thing he had noticed. "They are guiding us! When I sleep with my head towards the east the headaches go!"

Sinclair smiled, "Correct, and you three must go and see whom it is that summons you!"

"And why not you?" Simon looked at the self-proclaimed mage and archivist. "It seems to me that you have plenty of power and would be a perfect addition to the team."

Sinclair bowed his head. "It is true, I have power, far more than any in this room but I would not be a good addition to the team at all." A far away look came into his eyes, "I will be dead within the week. I am old, my magic leaking and it will soon overwhelm me. If my compatriots were here they would host the farewell feast and sing the honour songs as I took my life, but they are not so I will sing to myself and quietly drift away. Such is the way."

He laughed, breaking the contemplative mood he had been displaying, "it will be fun, really. I came through the gate because I wanted to see what was here. You are doing well in what you build and I am happy to give you this advice, but I cannot do more. Death cannot be negotiated with and I have lived long enough that he is a welcome old friend rather than a fearsome foe."

Tirangali spat on the ground. "And why should I do this? Help these people who beat me, bound me and threw false accusations at me?"

Before Simon could speak and offer apologies Sinclair spoke up. "You should do it to preserve yourself. Have you not noticed that the headaches are getting worse? That, plus the instigation of this illness shows that whomever wants to meet us grows impatient. I do not think it would be good for your health to remain behind…"

Tirangali glared at him, but remained silent, clearly his instinct for self-preservation was alive and well.

"Let them go, give them what they need." Simon spoke up. He had no reason to believe Sinclair aside from the obvious fact that the old man could just have remained in hiding and no one would have known. He wiped his forehead and sat down, his legs not wanting to hold him up. "Let them go. What other choice do we have but to hope that this old man is right." He finished speaking and passed out, the world fading to black as he looked at the three, tied and bound on the floor, looking silently at him.

Response to Review by HarbingerOfTheApocolypse

1\. What races are in this story?

So far- humans, but read on...

2\. Are you posting what they each specialize in in the next chapter? I.e: swords, dagger, magic, lock picking

It will come out in the story. I want to avoid 4th wall breaks and let it read as if they are people living in a world, growing as they learn rather than paper characters with a bunch of stats.

3\. Will there be specific D&D items? I.e: profane scabbard, gloves of dexterity, etc...

As with 2, specific D&D names will not be used unless they are specific or needed for story purposes. What I am considering is posting Stat blocks at the bottom as we go on for both the characters and any custom or adjusted creatures at the bottom as we go on.

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